(I always say)

With the hard linguine bite of an al dente cooked sister
the nasty space encroached on
our brouhaha.
this ill arrangement of our soft (so soft) altercation
churned brown fundamentalism
with puke-green anarchy
to yield a creamy diarrhea
from the nether orifice
of a bloated politics.
better a stank definition
than
a bald mesmerism.



[I wrote this in less than five minutes one Saturday morning, using a set of nouns and adjectives I had come up with during the preceeding minute. Its truth is thus debatable; its message, however, is clear.]

u-mich legacy

[verse 1] (skinny p.)
Another freestyler sliding
Through the tricky turnstile
Colliding
With a six-three urn while
Imbibing
State Street cider, dial
The fire, flood, or bud for hire
Department, tell the
Officer, this fellow fell
Right through the floor
Of his apartment
Landed in a random
Assortment of debris
That used to be in tandem
With his old deportment
Put in the memorandum
How he cried when Candice canned him
How he lied then when we scanned him
For bumps and lacerations
—Things he never had
Back when he flied
As a bona fide fly-guy
Yeah, he was fly, but now he’s flew
His flying days are through
But fly or flew that foo is always flow
‘Cause you know
Didn’t no one throw
The spoken word like him
When all else stopped and you said go

[chorus] (Lady Ladle)
Not the flyest fly MC
Sorry for what I couldn’t be
Still the flowest that you’ll see
That’s his u-mich legacy

[verse 2] (El OraToro)
In recent times some decent rhymes inspired
Their lines, combined with rhythm’s fire
Conspire to send our spirits higher
Transpire what may, our song ain’t gon’ expire
Unlike Ali in Jack Kevorkian’s office
We float like bees and sting the scorpions off us
Deliver shots that make your liver quiver
Give vivid verbal balls till timbers shiver
Dish out verse like goulash with a ladle
To hags and newborns spoon-fed in the cradle

Spinning the spoken like vinyl records
Jumping the tokens like Chinese checkers
Bring some clippers for my white rap
Cuz it’s dense like Eiffel T.’s a kite trap
Keep the clippers for a fade route
I’ll fade you up before I fade out
Leave the tweeters for Sylvester—
Ain’t no treble to adulterate like Hester
When the bass is frequent and erupts before us
Protect your face, here comes the chorus

(Lady Ladle)
Not the flyest fly MC (the fly-est)
Sorry for what I couldn’t be (so sor-ry)
Still the flowest that you’ll see (the flow-est)
That’s his u-mich legacy (u-mich, his le-gacy)

(everybody)
Not the flyest fly MC (the fly-est)
---Never hide what you can speak
Sorry for what I couldn’t be (so sor-ry)
---The flow will show what none could see
Still the flowest that you’ll see (the flow-est)
---The flow will show its fluency
That’s his u-mich legacy (u-mich, his le-gacy)
---And that will be your legacy